


Escape

by Burningchaos



Category: Roswell (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-25
Updated: 2010-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-12 04:43:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burningchaos/pseuds/Burningchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I had a dream about Michael running well hopped up on pain meds, the fic turned out surprisingly well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escape

Michael started running in the middle of a Nashville winter, the air was crisp, it burned his lungs and smelled like sour whiskey. There wasn’t much ice downtown, or at all, but it wanted to snow. He ran until his knees ached, his chest heaved and his thought he might have a heart attack despite the fact he was only twenty – two.

He ran between parked cars, around last night drunken revelers, delivery men and tourists. He ran to forget, to remember and for discipline.

They left Nashville before he made it up to two miles a day, so he continued to run in Boston where it was three times as cold and there was actual snow on the ground. He didn’t care, every morning he would sneak out of the rented house he shared with Max, Liz, Maria and Kyle in grey jogging pants and a USMC sweatshirt he found at a thrift store. He figured it was a bit of irony to wear military cast offs when they were hiding from them.

He ran the same route every day even though he knew it was dangerous, he like the look of the river, the smell of the air, the path was salted and he made it up to five miles a day after being there only three weeks. Isabel stayed with Jesse despite Max’s protests and that was the last they heard of her.   
Max moved them to the coast just as spring was breaking, so he ran on the beach. The salty air, the cry of the gulls, the impact and slide of his feet in the sand; he was doing six miles then seven before anyone bother ask him what was wrong.

They moved two more times, once still on the coast and the other to Texas. He ran there too, now they were in Nevada. He ran in the desert on hard packed sand, sweat dripping between his shoulder blades, his hair plastered to his head, vultures sweeping through the air, were there was nothing but an endless horizon and blue, blue skies.

He was up to ten miles a day; they were still in Nevada, when Kyle cornered him. His skin itched; his body ached with the need to run. He needed to feel the burn and pull, the stretch of his body as he pushed everything out of his mind but the route he ran and his breathing. ‘Michael, this has to stop. Just tell us what’s wrong. ’ He figured Kyle drew the short straw this time.

They thought it was because Maria stayed on the coast; he’d been expecting it since they left Roswell five years ago, just like he hadn’t expected to still be moving to a new city every few months, jumping at shadows and their lives still going nowhere in general. He brushed Kyle off and headed out to run.

He pushed out everything, he didn’t miss Maria even though he should, he was tired of listening to Max and Liz fight, he hated that Kyle was still pinning for home. He hated not having anything but this for himself. He listened to the slap, plop of his feet against the packed sand, and for once he couldn’t forget. He was at mile three when he realized what he had to do.

He ran another mile, headed to the rock where he stashed an emergency bag – something he hadn’t known the reason behind until now - grabbed it and kept running. He stuck out his thumb when a car passed; he was sweaty, gross and nervous but when he looked at the car the three wanna be hippie girls just smiled and asked him if he needed a ride.

“Where you heading?” The driver asked as he climbed in.

He thought about it for a minute, smiled for the first time in what felt like years, and settled back against the cool leather seat. “Where ever you drop me off.”


End file.
